February 18th; 12:49 a.m.
The Gulfstream V leveled off and assumed its cruising speed of five hundred and sixty miles per hour. Dahlia unbuckled her seatbelt and went to the back of the plane. “Mind if I join you?”
Alone in a darkened area of the cabin, staring out the window at a black sky, Pence faced her and smiled.
“You look deep in thought. Am I interrupting?”
“No, I was just thinking about the day.” He gestured at the seat. “I would love the company.”
Dahlia sat, crossed her legs and placed folded hands on her knee. “It’s been a wild eighteen hours, hasn’t it?”
He looked up and lifted a finger toward the front of the aircraft. “You folks run at this breakneck speed all the time?”
She shot out a puff of air. “This is nothing. So far, we’ve only been to two countries. I think,” she cocked her head and closed an eye, “we touched down in five over a forty-eight hour period on our last mission. Maybe it was four.” She made a face and shrugged. “They all run together after a while.”
Pence chuckled.
“Back in Florida you said ‘crap happens’ and ‘sometimes you find yourself in a place you never thought you’d be.’ That sounded rather grim.”
Puckering his lips and turning away, he nodded. “Yes, it’s a grim tale.” He came back to her and flashed a grin before frowning. “It’s a long story that doesn’t have a happy ending. I wouldn’t want to dump on you.”
“Suit yourself,” Dahlia glanced at a nonexistent watch on her wrist, “but I believe we have plenty of time.”
Pence leaned away and studied the woman, who had changed her attire, now wearing a black tight knit sweater, blue jeans and black knee boots. Her bleached blonde hair was in a high ponytail, which curved around her neck and stopped at her breast. Striking…and deadly, all in the same breath. Maybe it’s her ferocity that makes her so attractive.
“Well,” Dahlia put both feet on the floor and leaned forward, “if you don’t want to talk, that’s—”
Pence touched her forearm. “I lost—I lost my son…many years ago.”
For a person who loved children, the man’s words were a kick in the stomach. She sat back and leaned closer. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He was five. He had a heart condition…from birth. Joey and I,” Pence faced the window, wringing his hands before rubbing his knuckles, “we were lucky to have those years. The doctors told us he wouldn’t live to see his first birthday.”
“Is Joey your wife?”
“Ex.” Pence regarded Dahlia. “We divorced shortly after Peter died.”
Dahlia pursed her lips and stuck out her chin, pushing the lump in her throat further down. Poor thing…lose your son and your wife at the same time. Life sure can suck.
“Looking back, I think our marriage had ended long before then. She—” Pence wiped his face with both hands. “What am I doing? I’m sorry. I never should have brought this up.”
Dahlia put a hand on the grieving man’s forearm. “It’s okay.”
“No,” he pushed himself into the seat, “I don’t like talking about this.” He paused. “I have never talked about this. Sharing feelings is not my strong suit.” He pivoted his shoulders. “So tell me about you. What’s an attractive woman like you,” he glimpsed his surroundings, “doing on a plane like this.” He heard his words. “Not that you’re not good enough to be on a plane like this. I just meant—”
Dahlia sliced fingers across her neck. “Better stop before you bury yourself.”
He chuckled. “Seriously, what’s your story? I mean you can’t be more than twenty-nine, or thirty, right?”
The thirty-two-year-old lifted the corner of her mouth and nodded once. Yeah, let’s go with that.
“Anyway, the first time I met you, you were with a team of Navy Seals. Then you gain Wells’ confidence in a matter of hours before neutralizing—your words, not mine—seven men all by yourself. I know the FBI is good at training their people, but you didn’t get those skills from them.” Pence tipped his head back and ogled her.
Her mind recalling her days as an assassin, a paid killer working for the mafia, Dahlia glanced at her hands and fiddled with her fingernails. Don’t want to go down that road. She smiled at Pence. “Let’s just say I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”
The man recoiled slightly, eyebrows coming together. “So I bare my soul, and you get to plead the fifth? Kind of a double standard, don’t you think?”
Pursing her lips, Dahlia looked away and came back to him, nodding. “One hundred percent. And I’m okay with that.”
Pence laughed aloud. “Wow. You’re not going to give me anything, are you?”
Spying Hardy coming down the aisle, Dahlia poked a thumb at her chest and gave Pence a mischievous grin. “This girl’s defenses are pretty tough to breach.”
Pence came closer and put a hand on the shaft of her boot. “I’ll take that as a challenge, Dahlia.” He removed the hand when Hardy took the seat across the aisle from them.
“Cherry struck pay dirt on Jared Weston.” Hardy spotted the retracting hand before noticing a little redness in Dahlia’s cheeks. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
Dahlia fidgeted and crossed her legs to face Hardy. “What did she find out?”
Hardy hesitated, going back and forth between Pence and Dahlia before settling on his female teammate, a tiny smile spreading over his lips. It would seem someone has a little crush on our Mr. Pence.
Dahlia half closed an eye, shooting daggers at her team leader. Don’t you dare say a single word. I swear I’ll...
Hardy’s face went deadpan. “Mr. Weston has a place in Stockholm. I’ve spoken with the pilot, and we’re diverting there now. We’ll be on the ground in ninety minutes. Jameson is making contact with the local police to coordinate a raid. Once Weston’s in custody,” Hardy ran a finger between him and Dahlia, “we’ll be leading the questioning.”
Dahlia leaned left and eyed a sliver of Cruz’s body. “What about Cruz? Shouldn’t she hear this too?”
“She’s sleeping. I don’t want to wake her. She’s still not used to this hopping from country to country yet. I’ll bring her up to speed before we land.” Hardy leaned forward to stand.
Dahlia smiled. “I’m thirty-two and can handle this better than a woman two years young—” she shot a look at Pence, Oops, and eyed Hardy. “Sounds good. I’ll be ready to go.”
“Now that you mention it,” Pence stroked his chin, “I seem to recall Wells saying something about Stockholm during the interrogation.”
Hardy sat again. “What was it?”
Pence drew in a breath, shaking his head. “He was in and out of it at the time, so I didn’t think much about it. He said,” Pence paused, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling, “he said something about a restaurant if I remember correctly.”
“What restaurant?”
“The Pala…” Pence winced and looked away before facing the other man, “I don’t remember.” He dug out his mobile. “I’ll search for restaurants in Stockholm and see if any of them ring a bell.”
“Did Wells happen to say what was at this restaurant? Why it might be important?”
Pence shook his head. “As I said, he was not very lucid at the time, so it might not be anything.”
“Still, we should check it out.” Hardy pointed at Pence’s phone. “Let me know what you come up with.” Hardy left the two alone.
“Will do.” Pence thumbed his cell. “So I guess I was a tad south, huh?”
Dahlia frowned at him.
He glimpsed her out of one eye, while tapping letters on the mobile phone. “Your age.”
Smiling and nodding, she used his knee for an armrest while standing, squeezing gently. “Is that a problem?”
Her touch sent tingles up his leg. He looked up at her. “No, not at all.” He paused. “I like older women.”
Dahlia smiled and wagged a finger. “Be careful. You’re burying yourself again.” She left him, hearing a snicker behind her.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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